by Zara Teleg
I received therapy to cope with what happened. I turned to Buddhism to learn to forgive. I did forgive Antonio for what he did to me physically. What I would never forgive was the fact that his actions made me lose my family. My mom, dad, and Paige. Calling them every once in a while on a burner phone was not enough. I wanted to have my family in my life. Until their cartel was brought down, I was not safe, and neither was anyone I loved.
When I first moved here a few years ago, I forced myself to get to know people in the town. I wanted to determine if they were trustworthy. But I soon realized my folly. No matter how much you thought you knew about a person, they might not be who you thought they were. I knew that better than anyone. No one knew the truth of who I was, except Ivy. Maybe that was why I loved animals—they don’t lie to you like people do.
I pinched myself hard enough to let out a small squeal. The mark on my hand was immediately red, and I rubbed the spot softly to soothe it. Therapy taught me to use a rubber band and snap it against my wrist whenever I lost control of my thoughts and needed to bring myself back. I had to stop using a rubber band. Every time my eyes would land on the small band, my thoughts would go to what I was trying to keep myself from thinking. It was useless. Now, I just pinched myself whenever I needed to snap out of it.
Rage
It didn’t take long for me to fall back into the comfort of The Pit. I was afraid that after being away for so long, it would seem more like Leo’s than ours. So many guys from way back still trained here, and they made me feel more like a celebrity than an outsider.
I was in the zone, hitting the heavy bag as I usually did when something bothered me. My fists pounded it harder and harder as I tried to keep the memories from creeping in. But it was no use, they were etched in my mind like a scar.
I was only nine at the time...
Donovan and I were spending the better part of our summer day doing one of our favorite activities, hunting honeysuckles. Grandma kept warning us about the bees, but that never stopped us. She often spent nights coating our stings with her baking soda remedy, but the sticky sweet treats were worth it. Then we heard the dinner bell ring from across the street, so we dropped everything and came tearing into the house.
“Boys, get washed up for dinner! If you clean your plates, you can have my homemade blueberry pie for dessert,” my grandmother’s sweet voice echoed from the kitchen.
“Is there ice cream, too, Grandma?” Donovan asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He waited for his turn to wash his hands as I climbed down from the stool at the sink.
“Of course! Hurry up now, the pie is still warm, just like you like it,” she said as she began preparing the desserts, singing along to the Elvis Presley songs she always played.
“Done!” we both yelled as we raced to eat the chicken, baked beans, and corn. We cleaned our plates. Grandma’s brilliant blue eyes shone with pride as she handed us our warm pie with melting vanilla ice cream on top. She made us feel special, serving desserts on her good china that most people only used for holidays. She said that every dessert she shared with us was a special occasion. I loved the gold trim on the edges of the delicate plates. Donovan convinced me that it was made from pirates’ gold, which I believed. Grandma served our milk in the fancy matching tea cups. We were super careful with them. Grandma said she got them when she and grandpa got married, a long time ago, before the war.
That night, Grandma tucked us into our beds as usual. She knelt beside us to say a bedtime prayer. My stomach hurt that night from the extra pie I’d snuck. She’d pretended not to notice the large missing piece. She came to my bedside, turned down the soft white blanket, and lay next to me. She rubbed my tummy and sang to me one of her church songs.
Lying in bed, all I could think of was how good that pie was, even though I ate too much. Turning toward her, I asked, “Grandma, will you always make us pies? Will you make them for us like you did for Daddy when we grow up?”
She pulled me in closer. I inhaled a mix of syrup and rose, together the scent was its own brand of grandma. She lifted my head to meet her blue eyes, which bored into mine, “Alexander, someday you will meet a warm and wonderful girl who will be your wife. If you are the same sweet and kind boy you are now, she will bake you blueberry pies, better than Grandma’s.”
My eyes grew wide, I sat up and said definitively, “That’s impossible!” I put my fist in the air for emphasis. “You make the best pies in all of Hemlock County! Everyone says so. Preacher James said they’re the best in the state!”
She smiled and kissed my forehead and ran her small hand through my dark curls. She took my chin in her hand and said, “Alexander, every night when you go to sleep, I want you to promise me you will pray that someday you’ll meet someone who is as sweet as my pies. And when you do, I want you to promise that you’ll treat her with respect and never let her go.”
“I promise, Grandma.”
She smiled brightly and tucked the blanket around me. “Good boy. I have leftover blueberries. You know what that means?”
My grin grew wide and I nodded. “Blueberry pancakes for breakfast!”
“Now, go to sleep, my sweet boy.” She kissed my forehead again before turning off the light. She closed the door, all but a crack left open, and continued humming her church song down the hall.
I lay in my bed smiling at the thought of waking to stacks of blueberry pancakes. The only thing as good as Grandma’s pies were her pancakes drowning in the sugar maple syrup. A mixture of wind chimes and the motor of the fan in the window lulled me to sleep as they did every night.
Only, instead of waking up to blueberry pancakes, I woke up to my brother’s frantic screams. “Grandma, wake up! Alexander! Grandma won’t wake up!”
An aneurysm had taken my sweet grandma, and my world had gone from living in a loving home to moving into a world of despair with my gambling, alcoholic, abusive mother. Twenty-four years later, I could still remember the sweet sound of my grandma’s voice. My nose and eyes burned as I forced back the emotion.
As that memory played in my head, I punched the heavy bag as if I could make the past disappear. I tried to keep the lump from forming in my throat. I moved to the speed bag, using the fluid repetition as a distraction from the haunting memories.
Grandma had made me and Donovan go to Sunday service. She had thought it was important, and she had tried to put both the love and fear of God in us both. Her funeral had been the last time I ever went to church. Everyone from Grandma’s parish had attended and most of the townspeople, too. Mr. Spencer had played Grandma’s favorite song, Hallelujah, on his harmonica. The funeral had been barely over when my mother began making a drunken scene.
The speed bag nearly flew off the hook as I assaulted it. My rhythm was a strong and steady beat. I could feel the wraps on my hands coming off from scraping the bags. Blood began to tinge the white tape.
My mother and her boyfriend had raided Grandma’s home, selling anything of value. I begged her not to sell the ring that Grandma had given to me to someday propose to my wife with. Grandpa had given it to her, and his mother had given it to him. Mama didn’t care.
Daddy had been Grandma’s only child. She had called him her miracle. She had prayed for a child for years, and when she was forty, God finally answered her prayers. She said that was why you should never give up; she swore that the Lord was always listening and would answer your prayers, even if it took a long time. So, I prayed every night for years for God to send me and my brother to someone who would love us like our Grandma did. He didn’t. And eventually, I just stopped praying and believing that anything good could ever happen for me.
Juliet
It had been four days since I met Rage at The Pit. I had to admit, even though I didn’t want to, I was hoping to run into him again there.
“How was class on Wednesday?” Leo asked. “I heard some of you went back to The Ridge. No one got out of line?” His eyebrow arched as he waited for my answer.<
br />
“No, Leo, it was fun.” I kicked the side of the bag three more strikes, standing on one leg. “I only had one drink, then I headed home. Lord and my bed were calling.”
He held the bag steady for me. “Good, I was hoping not to have to kick anyone’s ass for hitting on you or Ivy.”
After the last kick, he tied a weight around my waist and pointed to the pull-up bar. I did five, then jumped down to catch my breath.
“I met your partner, Rage, on Wednesday. He stopped by after class. I haven’t seen him around again.” I tried to act casual, but I swallowed hard. Did he notice?
“Rage is working mostly nights to give Shelly and me a break. He tries to get workouts in the morning.” He looked at me suspiciously, or maybe I was just being paranoid.
He pointed to the bar again. I jumped up.
“Gotta say, it’s great having my brother back. The fighters respect him, and it doesn’t hurt that the ladies love having him around.”
I jumped down again after another five and placed my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Thank God, I’m almost done.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t end up with a whole bunch of new ladies joining the gym.” He must have noticed my unintentional eye roll because he nodded his head and twisted his lips.
“Juliet, I know that look. You interested, girl?” His eyes squinted with a knowing smile. “I thought you were dating that douche bag, Richard Ramsey?”
“Who, me?” I put my hand on my chest. “Interested? Nah, I just hate the kind of girls who would join a gym just to have a super hot trainer. Richard and I have only gone on a handful of dates and we’re not exclusive.” I said emphatically.
“I see.” He stroked his chin. “So, you’re not interested in my ‘superhot trainer,’ then?”
“Nope, and by the way, Richard is not a douche bag—he has been nothing but respectful.”
“Okay, glad to hear, cause that’s not the Dick I know. And he better be respectful, cause if he gets out of line, he will have a line of fighters to deal with.” He crossed his arms over his shoulders.
“What? You don’t think you’ve trained me well enough to take care of myself?” I asked in mocked shock, hands on my chest for effect.
“Nah, I think your moves would shock the shit out of him, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t answer to us, too.” His tone was now serious. “But if he fucks with you, he fucks with us.”
“Aww, thanks, Leo. I appreciate you all looking out for me. However, I can take care of myself. And don’t worry,” I said, more to myself than to Leo, “nobody is fucking with nobody, as far as I’m concerned.”
Chapter Six
Juliet
I felt the burn of the liquid courage as it trickled down my throat. It was half an hour until show time. How did I get talked into this?
The MC wanted to do something special for Rage for his homecoming party. First, they begged me. Then they bribed me. With the same amount of money I needed to get my Jeep fixed. How convenient. I was sure Ivy ratted me out.
I had performed this routine in front of many crowds, but knowing that Rage was going to be in the crowd, probably the one person who was going to be paying the most attention, that had my stomach in knots.
Two weeks ago, Hawk came over to Fluid pleading with me to perform at his best friend’s homecoming party. He was so excited and couldn’t stop talking about the party and how important it was to him to do something special.
Two weeks ago…
“You guys know I’m not a stripper, right?” I studied his face, making sure he knew I was serious.
He laughed. “Yes, babe, we do. Those girls will be there, too, on the tables! We want something else, something that will steal the show. We’ve heard all about how talented you are and know that these guys will never have seen something like this before.”
“Can you come up with something like the video Ivy showed me?” Hawk asked.
Ivy. That traitor. I knew she put him up to this. I crossed my arms and shook my head. “Yes, Hawk, I can.”
I then asked the critical questions. “How high are those ceilings? Are the beams safe and sturdy?”
“Yes…you’ll be fine.” Hawk insisted.
I grinned as an idea came to me. “What song does Rage come out to when he fights?”
“Sick Puppies. You’re Going Down,” Hawk said.
The song began playing in my head. I could already see the show coming together. I knew what I was going to do.
“Okay, have everything ready the Friday before the show. Ivy and I will come and do the practice round.” I pointed my finger and waved it back and forth in front of his handsome face. “No peeking.”
He made a cross over his heart. “I promise, no peeking.”
I shook the conversation out of my head, bringing myself back to my current predicament I was in. What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to this? I looked out at the fabric curtain that concealed the stage. There were easily over a hundred bikers and ladies in the crowd. I chewed on my thumb as I zeroed in on the girl stripping on the center table. Huh, Hawk wasn’t lying. Was she naked? I tried to get a better look.
“You are chewing your nail.” Ivy grabbed my hand and pushed it down.
“Oh, thanks.” I smoothed my leotard and smiled nervously as I looked at the girl who was now panties away from being naked.
“Juliet. Do you need another shot?” Ivy asked, standing in front of my view of the stripper. “God, no. If I have another, I might get sick when I go upside down. I think two is enough.”
I never did shots, but I needed them tonight because there was no way I was getting on that stage sober, especially looking like this. My eyes roamed down the tiny costume. Ivy applied one more layer of glitter.
“Ivy, I’m never going to be able to get that stuff off me. God, stop, please.”
“Nope, you have to be perfect, glowing from every angle. I want you shining like the star I know you are.” She smacked her bright lips and blew me a kiss as she winked.
My leotard was one I had used as a costume a few years ago when Ivy had dragged me to a party. We had gone as angels—I had been a white angel, and she had been a dark one. The material was almost transparent with a deep V going down to expose my belly ring. There was a sheer fabric between the top to keep it in place. Ivy had made my hair a work of art—the front pieces were in braids that surrounded my head like a crown, and the rest was left down and long. Tiny sequins were woven into the braids to catch the light. Iridescent body paint and loads of glitter coated my tan skin. My eyelashes were long, fake, and full of glitter, too. I had stage makeup on for full effect. I was as close to an angel as I could get. A few minor alterations to keep my boobs from popping out, and I was just about ready.
Through the mirror, I could see Hawk entering the dressing area with a microphone tucked under his arm. My back was still toward him. My long hair was hiding most of my back.
“Hey, babe, you ready?”
I turned my face toward him to indicate yes.
“I, ah—” He tried to form words through his open mouth.
“The words you are looking for are ‘Hi Juliet, my, you look beautiful,’” Ivy said.
“Yes, uh, I…Juliet,” he agreed, still staring, “you look more than beautiful, like a painting come to life.”
“Thanks, Hawk,” I said, grateful for the compliment. I patted his heavily tattooed hand, and with a nervous smile said, “I’m ready.”
Ivy gave me one last look, inspecting me from head to toe, nodding with approval. “You did this perfectly in practice, and you’ll be amazing.” She gave me a gentle squeeze before Hawk guided me to the side of the stage where no one could see me.
“I’m going to dim the lights. Climb into place and listen for the music,” Hawk said as he pointed up to the top of the silk.
“Okay.” I let out a deep breath.
“Juliet, good luck, darlin’.” Hawk winked and walked toward the other side of the stag
e.
The moment the lights were dim, I climbed the silks and waited for my cue. My heart raced with excitement as the silky fabric wound through my hands.
From here I could see the fairy lights that illuminated the area below. All the guys, old ladies, girlfriends, and even the strippers watched as the lights went out.
Everyone cheered when a small light found Rage, front and center, sitting in his throne with a beer in one hand and a shot in the other. He held his drink in the air and then tossed it back, to everyone’s cheer. He looked uncomfortable from where I stood. Total darkness replaced the light as everyone quieted down from all the whistles and hollers.
Rage
The room was packed from wall to wall with people dancing and celebrating my homecoming. I thought it was bad enough just being the guest of honor, but now I had a damn light in my face, and everyone expected me to be social. I raised my glass, which everyone seemed to love, and tossed back another whiskey, willing it to ease the anxiety. I hated attention. Thankfully, the light on me had gone and been replaced with total darkness. I set down my glass. Everything went completely black. The room quieted.
“What the hell is going on? Why did the lights go out?” I asked Colt, who was my latest shot partner. He just stretched his arm and pointed to the stage with a knowing grin. It had gone from dark to red. There was a curtain hiding most of it.
Hawk was at the DJ booth, mic in hand. He walked to the center of the stage.
